


Paint Me In Sunflower Yellow

by LaFemmePoeme



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Basira is a hijabi and you can't convince me otherwise, Developing Relationship, F/F, Hints of feral!daisy, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Scarves, Somewhat Fluffy, Yearning, humorous situations with the person you're crushing on, no suffering here yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24064018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaFemmePoeme/pseuds/LaFemmePoeme
Summary: Daisy is always distrustful of weather forecasts.She has very good reasoning for that.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	Paint Me In Sunflower Yellow

**Author's Note:**

> I've ignored the feral lesbians for far too long,  
> so now the time has finally come  
> to right this terrible wrong.  
> Note that once more, English isn't my first language.  
> I apologize for any errors that might have occurred.

It was...well, it was cold, there was no getting around it. In fact, it was downright _freezing._

Whatever gods may or may not have been watching had been gracious enough not to make Daisy's day off a miserable mess of drizzle and fog. That morning, accompanied only by a familiar thrumming ache in her joints, she'd checked the weather report (Which she usually _never_ did. The weather didn't matter much when you were a cop, you did your work regardless.) The news anchor and whatever meaningless reporters were on air that day had prattled on and on and on, until finally, the graying forecaster had stepped into the television frame. No rain for that day whatsoever. Not a droplet, he'd promised in that wheezy voice of his Daisy had heard plenty of times before. But this particular morning, his words had carried an offer of (somewhat) good weather, for Daisy's long-awaited day off, no less. 

The opportunity had simply been too good to pass up loitering in bed with joints moaning from a weeks work. That was, after all, no way to spend one's free time. Daisy may not have been the type to "go out to hit the town" but she _did_ know when to take an opportunity. 

A good morning scrub, few painkillers and a cup of fine black brew would make Daisy into a fresh new woman. If only for today. 

But, for all his virtuous offers of no rain, the poor forecaster had neglected to mention one simple, but very important detail. Or perhaps Daisy had simply forgotten to listen. 

The cruel Lady of the north, riding her carriage with the speed of a thousand gales, leaving behind none who weren't affected by her boisterous funtime. 

To a less pretentious person, she might have been known as the wind. 

And the wind was simply _vicious_. 

Daisy had no grand plans for her day off. A walk or a jog, perhaps a lunch, a grocery round to fill up the gaping emptiness of her fridge, and then dinner and wine at home. A modest way to spend your free time, perhaps, but outside her profession, Daisy considered herself a woman with a simple life. After all, simplicity was a good cage for a feral beast. 

She did not, however, consider herself very well equipped against the wrath of whirling gusts that awaited her when she emerged from her block of flats. The people passing by were struggling to hold onto their dear clothes, wrapping scarves tighter around their necks, stumbling about and hurrying up and down the street to get away from the wind. Daisy had no scarf, or a hat for that matter. Her only protection against the elements was the flimsy hood of her coat, which she promptly threw up to cover her ears. 

She could always turn back. Drag herself to her couch, or to the floor, spend the golden hours of freedom in the confines of her home, stretching or zoning out with the help of an episode of _The Archers._

But if there was one thing Daisy considered herself to be, it was determined. She had made plans, and she would see them through, come Hell or high water. 

Aided with this stubborn determination, Daisy squared up, tugged her coat as tight as possible around her frame, and with defiant, confident steps, she strode out into the arms of a vicious gust.

\------------

A deafening silence was an odd, slightly contradictory statement. When was silence so terribly loud yet deathly quiet, it made the all noises in the world seem nonexistent? Perhaps it was the silence of a lonely home at three AM, or a space that had moments ago bustled with sounds, yet was now devoid of all life. To Daisy, a deafening silence was the aftermath of a monster's death. The Earth did not weep over its demise, instead, she remained silent. Or at least that's how Daisy imagined it.

This was nothing like any of those moments. 

There were no people, except two women, standing opposite each other in stiff postures, as if they were about to spring into a wild gallop. The only ones witnessing this odd standoff were the roaring wind, and below her vicious claws, the stormy black surface of the River Thames. Had there been a human witness though, they might have found the scene a tiny bit humorous. 

Daisy's eyes were locked on Basira. 

Yes, this was Basira, Basira Hussain. Her coworker, her _work partner_ , her....her friend. 

Her coworker-friend, Basira, who was standing right in front of her, on their day off. Basira, who was not dressed in her police uniform, of course she wasn't, it was their day off. 

Basira, who was dressed in casual yet stylish clothes, with worn jeans, a black belt, a white shirt and a denim jacket casually slung over her gently toned arms and shoulders. And like a crown upon her head, a cherry on the top, adorning her rich, angular face was a yellow scarf, that battled with the rough wind. Her eyes shone from underneath her brows, questioningly gazing at Daisy. 

In that long moment, Daisy, calm, stoic and intimidating Daisy, swore she couldn't breathe. She tried to muster a greeting, but failed at doing so, choking on her words, so she remained quiet, continuing this intense staring competition. 

_Basira was so beautiful._

"Uh, hey Daisy. You enjoying the day off?"

Basira's words were muffled by the raging howls of wind, barely loud enough for Daisy to register she'd been spoken to. 

"Yeah..."

No. That wasn't quite true. For all the secrets she liked to keep hidden, lying to Basira about such a simple matter didn't feel right. 

"Well I would be if this bloody wind ceased up." Daisy's admission earned a small, wry smile from Basira. 

"Quite. Never can truly predict what the weather does, can we."

Were they actually, seriously, standing on a walkway next to the Thames, on a violently windy day, talking about _weather?_

Yes, they indeed were. 

And Daisy cursed herself for not remembering that of course Basira would be off that day as well. Cursed herself for not realizing that _of course_ they would run into each other. And cursed herself once more for good measure, and for not being able to stop _staring_ at Basira like a lovesick schoolchild. Which she, most definitely, was not. 

But it was so damn difficult.

Basira almost glowed with colour against the bleak backround of a stormy London. Her scarf was like a sunflower among concrete, gleaming and vibrant against her dark skin. The way she stood in front of Daisy. shorter than her, yet bearing an aura of calm confidence very few people Daisy has met over the years have borne. 

The silence that settled over the two women as Daisy fell into the whirpool of her thoughts was, in the strangest way possible, deafening. The vicious wind that had howled just seconds ago became distant, the sounds of traffic being drowned out by the overpowering tension between them. 

There was an unvoiced expectation hanging in the air, in the sharp angles of Basira's jaw, in her raised brow, and upon Daisy's tongue, demanding to be spoken out loud for the world to hear. 

_Oh for fucks sake Tonner, spit it out. No use in backing out now._

"So, would you like to-"

Daisy was interrupted midsentence as a gust of _terrifying_ magnitude tore into the two women, wailing in their ears with a vengeful rage, as if ignoring the wind had been an insult to its power. Daisy's eyes snapped shut for a brief moment, and when she cracked them open again, she saw Basira caught off guard by the burst of cold air. 

Just like that, as if by the grip of invisible fingers cunningly grasping Basira's head, the scarf as yellow as a sunflower was rudely torn from her head. 

Daisy's heartbeat soared into a wild, erratic rhythm as she snapped her head down, tearing her gaze away from Basira's face. Out from the corner of her eye, she saw the scarf travelling with frankly surprising speeds down the walkway. 

In a flurry of hasty motion, Daisy flicked her coat off of her form, clumsily throwing it in the direction where Basira stood, still as a stone, and bounced after the yellow garment. 

She ran. She ran as fast as her feet would let her in the old black sneakers she had pulled out of her wardrobe that morning. For those fleeting moments, as Daisy raced against the wind, daring it to go faster, she felt free. The erratic beat of her heart only fueled her need to run. Her joints ached no longer. She felt _joyful_. 

Daisy allowed her face to break out into a manic grin, a bit too wide and all teeth, as she squared in on her mark. It had been such a long time since she hunted last. 

The scarf snagged on the hood of a small car parked on the side of the road. Daisy rushed over to it, her fingers threading themselves into soft, silky fabric. As she did do, she was overcome with a need to sniff the scarf, to taste the scent of Basira on her tongue. 

She buried that feral thought deep, deep inside herself as soon as it arrived. 

With the yellow scarf now tightly clutched in her fingers, she took a few calming breaths, and turned to carry her catch back to Basira. 

Her gaze still lowered to the other woman's feet, Daisy approached her in silence, presenting the scarf to her like an offering to a deity. Basira exhaled softly, and then took the scarf from Daisy's hands, their fingers brushing gently on their way. The touch was small, insignificant even, but it made Daisy's nerves light up, a shiver of electric connection flowing through her. 

Daisy dutifully kept her eyes on the ground, staring intently at the soles of Basira's shoes, listening to the soft shuffle and rustle of fabric as Basira wrapped the scarf back to crown her head in yellow. Then, she let out a small sigh once more.

"You can look now Daisy."

The woman in question carefully raised her gaze up to meet Basira's eyes. The scarf was upon her head once more, though clearly more disheveled and crooked than it had been before. But Basira's eyes shone bright with amusement, her lips forming an easy grin. 

She truly was beautiful.

"You were asking me something? Before we were rudely interrupted," she prompted, and chuckled softly after.

"Yeah, yeah. Would you like to join me for dinner? Have to make it first though."

Daisy had returned her features back to rest in that somewhat stoic glare, but she was finding it harder and harder to resist a smile from creeping up onto her face. Basira threw her head back and let out a laugh, warm and almost affectionate. A sunflower growing from a field of concrete and stone. 

"Sure, that sounds lovely. Had to offer the lady some shelter from the terrible wind, huh?"

As the two women turned to leave, and began the half-an-hour-walk towards Daisy's home, walking side by side, she finally relented and broke out into a grin of her own. 

"Yeah, something like that."

**Author's Note:**

> *sniffles into her handkerchief*   
> Gods I love these lesbians.  
> I love them.   
> This...is also loosely based on a conversation I had with a sapphic muslim friend I crushed on years ago.


End file.
